"You can't do it, and there's an end of it," said Mrs Neverbend. "You and all your laws will never be able to put an end to poor Mr Crasweller,—and it would be a great shame if you did. You don't see it; but the feeling here in the city is becoming very strong. The people won't have it; and I must say that it is only rational that Jack should be on the same side. He is a man now, and has a right to his own opinion as well as another."
"Jack," said I, with much solemnity, "do you value your father's blessing?"
"Well; sir, yes," said he. "A blessing, I suppose, means something of an allowance paid quarterly."
I turned away my face that he might not see the smile which I felt was involuntarily creeping across it. "Sir," said I, "a father's blessing has much more than a pecuniary value. It includes that kind of relation between a parent and his son without which life would be a burden to me, and, I should think, very grievous to you also."
"Of course I hope that you and I may always be on good terms."
I was obliged to take this admission for what it was worth. "If you wish to remain on good terms with me," said I, "you must not oppose me in public when I am acting as a public magistrate."
"Is he to see Mr Crasweller murdered before his very eyes, and to say nothing about it?" said Mrs Neverbend.
Of all terms in the language there was none so offensive to me as that odious word when used in reference to the ceremony which I had intended to be so gracious and alluring. "Sarah," said I, turning upon her in my anger, "that is a very improper word, and one which you should not tempt the boy to use, especially in my presence."
"English is English, Mr President," she said. She always called me "Mr President" when she intended to oppose me.
"You might as well say that a man was murdered when he is—is—killed in battle." I had been about to say "executed," but I stopped myself. Men are not executed in Britannula.